


Teddy Bear

by cherryblur



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Blood, Drug Addiction, Heroin, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Obsession, Past Torture, Suicide, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-16 02:31:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19308826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryblur/pseuds/cherryblur
Summary: “You'recrying?” Tyler curls his lip. “What the fuck?”Josh sniffs. “It hurts.”





	Teddy Bear

**Author's Note:**

> a lot of babbles sort of put together as a story. not for the faint.

“Tylenol?” 

“No.”

“Ibuprofen? Advil?”

“What’s the strongest?”

Tyler flips a prescription bottle in his hand. “I have some heavy duty ibuprofen. 800 mg.”

Josh nods and catches the bottle with brittle hands.  
“Good enough.”  
There’s a name scratched off of the sticker, the directions telling him to take one daily for period cramps. And to swallow with food.

He squints.

Tyler flops onto the hotel bed, stretching his back out while Josh takes two pills dry and leans back beside him. 

“I think you’re just a pussy,” The brunette starts.  
“You never could take a punch.” 

He blinks with big doe eyes, the stitches running beneath his left one tensing every time he smiled.  
Luckily, that wasn’t often. 

“Maybe I’m just human,” Josh slurs, eyes drooping from the far to high dosage of ibuprofen he just took. “You’re fucked.” He taps his temple. “Up here.” 

Tyler cocks his head, swallowing. He stares at Josh’s woozy form, all broken and queasy.  
“Go to sleep,” He orders. 

And Josh does. On his own. 

•

”Stop, Tyler, _stop_ , pleas-“

”Shut the fuck up,” Tyler grumbles. “I’m trying to help you.”

Josh doesn’t want help.

”You’re not,” He argues. “I don’t need this to feel good.”  


Tyler’s teeth dig into the belt he grasps between his lips, the leather gouging into Josh’s skin.  
His veins pulse when Tyler plunges the needle into his bloodstream, pulling just enough blood out before pushing the drugs into his system.

”Better,” He mumbles. Josh starts to hyperventilate and recieves a purple band-aid on his twitching wound. It’s bruising, slowly distending out to show the lump where Tyler injected him.

He tries to breath through his teeth, pupils dilataing back and forth, hands clenching and unclenching.

”I hate you,” He says.

Tyler stares at him like a scientist eagerly waiting for some alien parasite to burst from his body.  
“I’ll fix you.”

Josh cries and Tyler smokes cigarettes while combing through his dirty yellow hair.  
“You’ll feel better tomorrow,” He promises.

•

”You’re making me an addict,” Josh gurgles. He’s been crying again, choking over his own words, shriveled up into himself because he’s small and weak against the brunette standing across the room from him.

Tyler packs their belongings into the same suitcase they’ve had for years and years. Josh doesn’t even know what state they’re in.

”I’ve told you-” He starts.

Josh snaps. “I know.”  
He trembles and is so, so cold, yet sweat rolls off his forehead. “I know, Tyler. You can’t feel anything. You can’t help it. You can’t remember. You’re fucking _insane_.”

He turns for the door, jaw set. He’s leaving. He’s going and he’s going to try to get his fucked up life back together. Tyler couldn’t control him for this long.

”Where are you going?”

Josh scratches the track marks littering his forearms. “Out.”

”Alone?”

”I don’t need you to hold my hand everywhere I go,” He snaps.

And then hears the familiar click of a gun.

”I’m insane,” Tyler deadpans. “Which means I’ll do it without a single fucking scrap of remorse.”

He stands, unblinking, staring through the back of Josh’s head.  
”So come sit down, and we’ll leave _together_ in a few minutes, dear.” 

There’s a pregnant pause.

”Okay,” Josh says to the door, like a child reciting possibly the most boring poem in history.

Footsteps. Hands on his waist. Breath in his ears and lips on his neck.  
“I’m sorry.”

Tyler touches him and apologizes more. He smells of liquor. He smells of Josh and cigarettes and those crushed up little pills he likes to snort when Josh is higher than a kite.

To be honest, he just likes to pretend.

Josh’s shoulders tremble with fear. His stomach twists into knots.  
“I want to go home.” He says like a child. He tries to fight and instead lets Tyler take him back into his arms, where he’ll just inject more drugs into his arms until his brain can’t tell the time.

”Take these,” He murmurs, holding out two slips with bright yellow happy faces printed on them.  
“Make you feel better.”

Josh takes the two tabs of acid.  
Because he _wants_ to. Not because Tyler told him to.

•

Tyler can’t feel. It’s not a lie.

He doesn’t have anything up there. In his brain. Josh heard that he was beaten so bad the nerve endings just..stopped working.  
He’s also heard that Tyler removed them himself, but the first option seems cleaner.

That’s why he can staple his fingers to a table to impress the newest drug dealer, that’s why he can come home on the brink of death and still be ready to take Josh on another drive.

It’s just gross. It’s disgusting. He can get a whole shoulder popped out of place and simply complain about the pressure of snapping it back to working order (what an ordeal.)

He doesn’t need drugs to feel good. Josh makes him feel so, so good.  
Watching him, feeding him more and more addiction, it fuels this fire deep inside of him.

It’s sickening.

But what has he got left to lose? Absolutely fucking nothing.

Josh has so much to share, though.

•

”Shh.”

Josh can’t stop throwing up.  
His teeth ache. He just wants to cut his tongue out because of how awful it tastes.  
Tyler rubs his back and breathes heavy at the convulsing boy in front of him.

Almost like he’s proud of the events occurring.

”What do you need?” He asks softly.

”A doctor,” Josh replies dryly.

He shakes with the aftermath, body curled into itself against the filthy wall of their motel room bathroom.  
Tyler strokes his bruised cheeks and kisses them all better.

”You’re so beautiful, Josh,” He says.

Josh begs to differ. He’s thin. His cheeks are sunken, eyes hollow and ringing with purple, just like the drug addicts he sees on those commercials.  
His fingernails break constantly, too brittle to stay on his hands. He feels if he eats anything his teeth might just fall out.

Tyler glows. Tyler has full lips still chapped from the favors he gives so Josh can get one more hit, Tyler has nimble fingers that pull on whatever is constraining Josh’s arm so that his veins pop out the most.  
Tyler feels nothing.

”I want to stop,” Josh rasps.

Tyler gives him more ibuprofen to sleep.

•

Tyler has a lot more stitches.

He picks them out with his teeth, spitting them onto the sink.  
Josh watches and scratches his track marks. They bleed on his clothes.

”Every time,” Tyler scolds to no one, fingers pushing along the gash in his forearm. “Staples don’t help a fucking thing, Josh.”

Josh nods like a eager student.

Scabs line underneath his cracked nails. His body aches. He can’t even remember the last time he had a hit of _anything._

Tyler turns, those heavenly bright eyes searching the broken boy seated on their bed.

”Lay down,” He says. Josh obeys because he’s really got nothing else better to do with his time. He never does anymore.

Tyler steps to him in wide strides until he’s nestled between malnourished thighs.  
“Just relax,” He orders.

Josh gets a blowjob-and that’s it. No hits of anything, no surprise bottles of pills, not even a cigarette.  
Just Tyler babbling about how fucking good he tastes, how big he is and how he wishes they could fuck.

”Sometime,” He promises for the millionth time. Josh has stopped counting.

•

Josh has, in a sense, completely given up.

He can’t remember. He can’t talk about how he used to be, when he was naive and following Tyler around like a lost puppy because the brunette had an in to every club, every back alley drug deal.  
He just knew how to please.

His hair is thin, but he can vaguely remember tugging through thick, curly locks that were pink at one point.  
The strands began to dry out once he dyed it all yellow. He wears a lot of hats.

Tyler still comes home, (home is a Motel 6) with his brand new needles and stitches under his eyes.  
He takes more of a beating every day but still manages to stay healthier than Josh.

”I’m gonna die,” He says one night. He’s not even high.

Tyler has a hand on his thigh and squeezes what little fat resides. “I’ll keep you alive, flower.”

”I don’t want to be alive,” Josh replies.

It’s true. He has no life left to live. No family to save him now. He’s so far gone under Tyler’s reign that the only way out is death.

So when the brunette is sleeping beside him, eyes moving steadily beneath his lids, Josh reaches and stretches his aching limbs until he’s got enough pill bottles to kill a water buffalo.

His fingers skim and struggle against ribbed plastic and he almost feels like these safety latches were meant for people like him, with bony fingers too thin to screw the bottles open.

Eventually, however, it happens. Tyler stirs only slightly.

Josh takes so many different shaped and colored pills he chokes and almost fucking throws up, then washes them down with a lukewarm redbull. He breathes heavy and swallows two, three, four more times just to make the lumpy feeling in his throat go away.

 _Better_ , he thinks, legs spread in front of him on the crunchy carpet. He’s going to get better.

His stomach siezes and he’s spitting foam before Tyler can wake up and realize what’s going on.

He screams and cries and claws at Josh’s paper thin skin like he could somehow rip his love’s soul from his numbing body.

And it’s a real fucking shame.

Josh laughs as he dies.

**Author's Note:**

> love me pls


End file.
